by Clayton Wood
She gasped, feeling a sudden warmth spread through her fingertips, followed by a powerful pulsing sensation. She jerked her hand away reflexively, looking up at Gideon. He smiled.
“Everyone does that the first time,” he reassured. “Go on, it won’t hurt you.”
Bella returned her gaze to the painting, steeling herself, then dipping her fingers into it again…and again felt that warmth and pulsing. She plunged her whole hand in, then her wrist, seeing them transform into brushstrokes on the canvas.
“That’s weird,” she breathed, opening and closing her fingers, watching as they moved within the painting. They seemed sluggish though, moving only with great difficulty.
“Grab one of the arrows,” Gideon instructed. She did so, reaching in up to her elbow. She felt a sudden tingling in her fingertips, and it spread to her hand.
“It’s tingling,” she stated.
“Hurry!” he urged.
She grabbed one of the arrows, feeling her hand close around its cool wooden shaft. Then she pulled it out. Sure enough, a very real arrow was in her hand, larger than it’d been in the painting. The warmth and pulsing sensation she’d felt earlier was gone.
“Toss it aside,” Gideon instructed. “And the others.”
“Why?” she asked. “You painted them, didn’t you?”
“No. Those are the arrows those soldiers shot at me.”
Bella frowned, looking down at the arrow. Then she remembered how one of the archers on horseback had shot at Gideon, the arrow plunging into Gideon’s painting. She’d been amazed that it hadn’t gone right through and impaled Gideon in the chest.
“You mean…?”
“Paintings are magic,” Gideon replied. “Things can be drawn out of them…and can be trapped within them.”
“Like Myko,” she reasoned.
“And you, and me, and anything else but another painting,” Gideon corrected. “You don’t have to be painted to go into a painting. Once a painting is completed – and signed – it becomes a doorway into its own static world.”
Bella stared at the painting, swallowing visibly.
“What if I fell into it?” she asked.
“You already did once,” Gideon replied. Bella blinked.
“What?”
“In the library at Blackthorne,” he clarified. “I had you stand in front of the canvas, remember?”
Bella’s eyes widened.
“You pushed me!” she accused.
“Right into the painting,” he agreed. He tapped her right arm with his stump. “Pull up your sleeve.”
She did so, and saw the tattoo still there on her forearm.
“I painted that on you while you were in there,” he explained. “Been practicing that little pattern for years now, let me tell you. Had to move quickly.”
She ran her fingers over the tattoo, half-expecting it to smudge, but it didn’t.
“Is it real?” she asked. “A real tattoo?”
“Of course.”
“But…I was only in the painting for a split-second,” she protested. “You pulled me right out!”
“A finished painting is a doorway into its own static world,” Gideon repeated. “It’s not like a book, where things are always happening. There’s no time in a painting. Everything stands still. So, anything that goes in it stands still too.”
Bella processed this.
“How long was I in there?” she asked.
“A few minutes. But if you’d been inside for a hundred years, it would have felt the same.” He gestured at the painting with his stump then. “Go on then, get the other arrows. I don’t want them cluttering my painting.”
Bella took a step back, shaking her head.
“You get it,” she retorted. “I’m not going near that thing.”
“You’ll have to get over that real quick if you ever want to become a Painter,” Gideon shot back.
“Excuse me?”
“The only people who can pull things out of paintings are Painters,” he explained. “So you were born with the gift.”
She just stared at him.
“I’ve seen your paintings,” he revealed. “You’ve got talent…as much as your mother did when I first started teaching her. If you ever want to be as good as she was, you’ll need to get past your fear.”
Bella’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open.
“You taught my mom?”
“That’s right,” Gideon confirmed, squaring his shoulders proudly. “She was the second-best Painter I ever met.”
“Who was the first?”
Gideon smirked.
“You’re looking at him.”
Bella felt her heart racing, a giddy sensation coming over her. He’d taught Mom how to paint!
“What was she like?” she asked breathlessly. “Was she nice? What did she paint?”
“I’ll tell you,” Gideon promised. “Just as soon as you get those damn arrows out of my painting.”
Chapter 10
Bella did get Gideon’s damn arrows out of the painting, all the while being terrified that she’d accidently trip and fall into it. Of course, Gideon could’ve pulled her right out, but the idea still frightened her. That she could quite literally become part of a painting, trapped forever in suspended animation. A fate like death…if no one ever drew her back out.
He’d rolled the painting back up, then said something to Myko that she didn’t quite hear. The great wolf sniffed around, then dug furiously in the water, bringing up globs of mud. Then he thrust his head into the water, coming up with a black disc in his jaws. It was as thin as paper, and about the size of Bella’s head.
“Take it,” Gideon instructed Bella. Bella did so, grabbing it from Myko’s mouth. It felt cool and slick, like glass. “Put it against the wall.”
Bella sloshed over to one of the stone walls, setting the disc against it.
“Higher,” he instructed. “Don’t want to get my things wet.”
She obeyed.
“Anulus!” Gideon exclaimed.
The disc melded with the wall…and started to grow. Bigger and bigger, until it was nearly as tall as she was. The bottom of it was a few inches above the water.
“Go on in,” Gideon instructed, gesturing at the disc with his stump. Bella blinked.
“Huh?”
“Step through,” he clarified.
Bella turned to the disc, staring at its utter blackness. Then she put a hand up to it. It passed right through, vanishing from sight. She withdrew her hand, glancing suspiciously at him.
“Is this another painting?” she asked. He arched an eyebrow.
“Is it?”
She thought it over. She couldn’t see her hand past the disc, and there was no pulsing or warmth when she’d plunged her hand through. So no, it wasn’t.
“Right,” she muttered. Then she took a deep breath, stepping through the disc.
And gasped.
For she found herself in a room three times as big as her bedroom back home. The floors were made of warm red cherry, the walls painted off-white. There was a fireplace crackling merrily at the far wall, and a large built-in bookshelf set into the rightmost wall. And against the leftmost wall, a big, comfy-looking bed.
Gideon stepped through the black disc, now against one wall of the room. Water dripped from his pants onto the floor as he strode up to the bookshelf, his shoes leaving muddy tracks, to his obvious distaste. The bottom half of the bookshelf consisted of large drawers, the top a series of shelves with books atop them.
Gideon grabbed one of these books, pulling it out slightly. Then he pulled out another book in the same way.
The bookshelf spun in a quarter-circle, revealing a secret room beyond.
“Come on,” he urged, stepping into the next room. Bella followed, finding herself in a large walk-in closet. There were various suits, shirts, and pants hung neatly on either wall, as well as an assortment of hats and what looked to be capes. And shoes. Lots of shoes. A door at the end of the
closet was partially open, revealing what appeared to be a large studio. She caught a glimpse of an easel and a bag filled with rolled-up canvases.
Gideon retrieved a stack of neatly folded clothes at the far end of the closet, as well as a pair of tall boots.
“These are for you,” he declared. “You change outside, I’ll change in here. Let me know when you’re decent.”
Bella obeyed, relieved that Gideon had the decency to spin the bookshelf again from the inside to give her privacy. She was glad to be rid of her still-soaked and muddy clothes, and for the warmth of the fireplace. She stood in front of it for a while to dry her skin, then studied the outfit Gideon had given her: black leather pants, a black leather shirt, and a black hooded cloak that was ruby-red on the inner side. And tall black leather boots. There were unusually large holsters of sorts at her mid-thighs below either hip, and a beige, canvas-like material on her chest and belly. The same canvas-like material encircled her upper arms, forearms, and shins like bracers.
The outfit was just a bit too big for her.
“They don’t fit,” she called out. The bookshelf spun, and Gideon stepped into the room. He was dressed in a uniform that looked remarkably similar to hers, but with a long red cape and a black Victorian top hat…and instead of plain beige fabric at his chest, arms, and shins, his were little paintings of sorts. He wore a black glove on his left hand, and tucked in his armpit were a bunch of rolled-up paintings. He began stuffing a few of them into the holsters on either thigh.
“Well then,” he declared. “That’s better.”
“These clothes don’t fit,” Bella repeated, gesturing at herself. Then, to her surprise, her outfit began to shrink, until it did fit…even her boots. Gideon smirked.
“They’ll always fit,” he countered. “I painted them to. They were your mother’s, by the way.
Bella’s eyes widened, and she stared down at her new outfit.
“She wore these?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” Gideon confirmed. “When she was around your age, in fact. It was her Painter’s uniform. It stores weapons and items for battle,” he explained.
“Like those?” she asked, pointing at his chest-painting. There were several fireballs painted there, and a strange black orb with a red glow around it.
“Correct,” he confirmed. “Here,” he added, reaching into his chest-painting. He pulled out the black orb…and promptly shoved it into her chest. Bella took a step back, expecting to be pushed backward, but Gideon’s hand went into her chest-painting, and he deposited the orb there, removing his hand. She stared at the orb, now stored within her uniform
“Wow,” she murmured. Then she looked up at him. “What’s it do?”
“Pray you never find out,” he replied. “Come on.”
And with that, he walked back to the black disc on the wall, stepping through and vanishing from sight. Bella hesitated, squatting down to search through the pockets of her old, muddy pants. She found Grandpa’s folded-up letter there, and stuffed it into her pocket. Then she followed Gideon, finding herself back in the flooded ancient room, water lapping at her boots. But they were clearly waterproof, keeping her nice and dry.
“Anulus,” Gideon said…and the disc shrank, falling off the wall. He caught it, handing it to Bella. Then he took off his hat, holding it upside-down with his stump; he took his cane from Myko, putting it right into his hat. It went all the way in, vanishing from sight. The remaining rolled-up paintings were next, somehow managing to fit right into the hat. Then he took the disc from Bella, repeating the process. That done, he placed the hat back on his head.
“Let’s go,” he stated, and trudged through the water toward the room’s exit, Myko at his side.
“How did you do that?” Bella asked, splashing after them.
“Magic,” he answered, patting the top of his hat.
“Did you paint that?” she pressed, hurrying up to walk beside him.
“Of course,” he answered. “I painted just about everything I own.”
“What was that room?” she pressed.
“My Conclave,” Gideon replied. “Just about every Painter has one. You see, when I painted the disc, I made it a portal to a place I created,” he explained. “I painted that room – the entire house, in fact – in the same painting as the disc.”
“Wait, I thought you could only paint things and pull them out of their paintings,” Bella protested. “You’re saying if you paint a portal, it’ll go to whatever you painted it to go to, and that place will just suddenly exist?”
“That’s right,” Gideon confirmed.
“Huh.”
It was powerful magic indeed, that could not only create things and animals like Myko, but actual places. But then again, apparently so could books. She’d lived in one for most of her life, after all.
“The more creative you are,” Gideon stated with a wink, “…the more powerful your magic will be.”
They continued in silence for a while, trekking through the Misty Marsh in their new clothes. They reached another set of ruins, and Gideon led them between crumbling stone buildings. The terrain sloped upward a bit, the ground drier and harder under their feet.
Gideon stopped abruptly, turning to Bella.
“We should make camp,” he declared. “This is as good a spot as any. I’ll fetch the fire.”
Gideon unrolled his painting, reaching in and grabbing the bronze fire pit with his gloved hand. He pulled it out, setting it on the ground. Fire danced within, but there was no wood fueling the flames. And no smoke came from the fire. More magic, Bella supposed. Nothing Gideon painted was merely ordinary, it seemed.
Gideon sat before the fire, and Myko laid beside him. Bella sat cross-legged on the other side of the fire pit, its warmth a stark contrast to the crisp night air. It was then that Bella remembered Gideon’s promise.
“You said you’d tell me about my mom,” she prompted.
“I did,” he replied. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Bella answered immediately. Gideon chuckled.
“Let’s start with something,” he countered.
“You taught her how to paint?”
“Oh yes,” he confirmed. “Let me start from the beginning. Your grandfather Thaddeus and I were old friends long before we decided to have children. I was his student, in fact…many, many years ago.”
“But you’re a Painter, not a Writer.”
“As are you,” Gideon pointed out. “And you were his student too.”
“Fair point.”
“He taught me the art of storytelling, which is the root of all magic. Then I finished my studies with some of the best Painters in the world. But I was young and craved adventure, so instead of becoming an academic like Thaddeus, I decided to become one of the Pentad’s bounty hunters.”
“Huh?”
“I did what Stanwitz and ah…Reynolds did,” Gideon explained. “But I searched for rogue Painters and Writers and so forth, those who’d created illegal art and escaped the law by getting lost in a book or in this world. It was a well-paying job, and quite dangerous. Very attractive for a young man like me, at the time. And it just so happened that I was rather good at it.”
“Huh.”
“Thaddeus continued teaching at the palace in the capitol of the Pentad, writing his books. After a very long time, he met an Actress and settled down. And they had your mother.”
Gideon paused, smiling at the memory.
“I was there when she was born,” Gideon revealed. “She was lovely and stubborn, right from the get-go. Thaddeus desperately wanted her to become a Writer, but by the time she was seven, it was clear she was destined to be a Painter.”
“So you started teaching her?”
“When she turned thirteen, yes,” Gideon confirmed. “At first she was hesitant, unsure. Always doubting herself. And stubborn – gods she was stubborn! – but I worked with her every day. I made her tell stories with her art. And her art was unlike anyth
ing I’d ever seen.”
“What was it like?”
Gideon sighed, lowering his gaze.
“Dark,” he answered. “Disturbing. Beautiful.” He glanced up at Bella across the fire, his green eyes seeming to glow in the firelight. “Like your mother.”
Bella processed this.
“Grandpa said she was complicated,” she recalled. Gideon burst out with a laugh.
“That,” he replied, “…is an understatement.”
“Why?” she pressed.
“I’ll tell you another day,” Gideon promised. When Bella’s face fell, he smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not being evasive, I’m just exhausted. And by the looks of it, you are too. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
With that, Gideon took off his cape, setting it on the ground and laying atop it, facing away from the campfire and Bella. It wrapped itself around him, and promptly lifted off the ground, levitating a few inches above it. Bella stared, marveling at the magic, then laid down herself. Myko lowered his head to the ground, resting beside his master and creator.
Within moments, Gideon was snoring.
Bella gazed into the fire pit, enjoying the gentle crackling of the fire. But as tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Her mind raced, overwhelmed with everything that had happened that day. To think that she’d woken up this morning in her bed…
No, not her bed. The neighbor’s bed.
Reality came rushing back to her then. Stanwitz and Reynolds dragging her upstairs. Kicking down the door. Stanwitz shoving Grandpa out of his chair.
Three gunshots went off in Bella’s head, and a vision of Grandpa’s body lying there on the carpet. Eyes staring vacantly into nothing.
Dead.
That horrible numbness returned, draping over her like a lead blanket. So heavy that it was impossible to shrug off. She closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep, but Grandpa’s dead eyes stared at her from beyond her eyelids.
She opened them, staring into the fire.
Minutes passed. Then what seemed like an hour. And still she couldn’t sleep.
Bella tossed and turned, then sighed, rolling back onto her side and curling in the fetal position. She resigned herself to the terrible truth: she wasn’t going to sleep tonight, and tomorrow was going to be very, very hard. Reaching down to her pocket, her fingers found Grandpa’s letter; she brought it out, unfolding it.